Poison Arrow
by Daimeera
Summary: Okay, not that I'm the expert, but love can be confusing. You just have to trust yourself. Trust your feelings. One-shot


She couldn't quite decide. In fact, she spent so long pondering that Marco had to honk his horn twice before she looked up. She was waiting outside, curled up on the small porch swing that they'd had since her youth--the one that she'd insisted they drag from province to province, city to city, as her dad's assignments changed--and yet Marco was forced to walk up and actively tap her on the shoulder before she jumped to attention.

"Nash!" Marco said. He wrapped her in a hug. "I can see how much you missed me."

Ellie broke into a genuine smile. "Marco! I do--I did. But you're here now." Her eyes drifted off toward the horizon.

"And you're not," Marco commented. "C'mon, El. In the car. We'll talk."

She smiled again. "Right," she said. "Right. Let's go." She let Marco pull her to her feet and lead her to the car, which she barely remarked was brand-spanking new.

"It's my baby," Marco boasted. 

"Beautiful," Ellie murmured. And her voice was genuine enough that Marco knew she meant it, or would have meant it if she'd actually had the presence of mind to appreciate anything at all.

"So, Ellie. Fill me in. What's up?"

---

It had been a long spring break. A really, really tortuously long spring break. For starters, it wasn't really spring. Sure, they called it spring break, but spring in Canada doesn't start until at least July. And second, it was lame in general.

Marco had gone to visit Dylan in Hockeyland. Degrassi didn't share the same schedule, so Ashley was busy with classes. And, much to Ellie's distaste, the landlord had booted them out for fumigation. So Ellie had landed back at home. With her mom.

She'd spent much of her time bundled up in ten thousand sweaters in that swing outside. It was her favourite thinking spot and always had been, no matter where they lived. She would curl up, arms around her legs, and just close her eyes and it was almost meditative. It was peaceful, to a certain degree, although her mind wasn't always a place she liked to be. But being outside, with herself and her mind, was better than being inside with a mother who was trying too hard to be a mommy now that she finally felt secure in her recovery.

It had been bizarre to be back home, after a semestre and a half on her own (basically on her own, anyway--Marco did, admittedly, do more dishes and cooking than he should have, but generally that was because he got to it first). Before she'd left, her mother had still been busy with AA meetings and activities with her new AA friends and those general first-year jitters that accompany any sort of remission. But when Ellie returned for spring break, her mother was much less busy with herself (not that being busy with herself was bad--at all, as far as Ellie was concerned) and much more interested in her daughter. Never mind that she knew next to nothing about who that daughter was.

They'd tiptoed around each other as much as possible, or, rather, Ellie tiptoed around as much as she could. Her mother, on the other hand, was determined to be an overbearing presence. And Ellie, with no one to talk to or go places with, was subject to her whims. Yet, despite herself, and despite her suspicions, and despite that she was loathe to admit it, she was almost starting to enjoy it.

---

"I . . . I have something I want to say," Ellie said. "To someone."

"Oh," Marco said knowingly. "Let me guess--three little words?"

"Something like that."

"Well, far be it from me to tell you what to do. But if you feel it, say it. Do you feel that way?"

"Yeah, that's kind of the problem," Ellie admitted. "I don't know. I think I do."

"But you're scared?" he guessed.

"Not scared. Just . . . yeah, okay, scared."

"Okay, not that I'm the expert, but love can be confusing. You just have to trust yourself. Trust your feelings." Ellie let out a snort of laughter. "What?" Marco protested.

"Nothing. No, you're right. I think I need to say it."

Marco smiled, delighted. "Well you'll have to tell me how it goes."

"Yeah," Ellie mused. "If I say it."

---

It had become an almost comforting familiarity in only a few days. Ellie, out of habit, did most of the cooking and cleaning. Her mother spent an hour or two here and there out looking for a job, much to Ellie's relief. It was good, she reflected, to see her mother actually doing something--besides worrying about her husband's latest deployment, of course. And the deployment was scary, as it always was, but it, too, was almost comforting. Things were normal, but a better normal.

Still, Ellie was grateful for the hours of work that had been assigned to her. It gave her a good excuse to get away and block everything out. And it worked, too. She could throw herself into it and forget everything else. She didn't have to think about boredom or love or those three little words. She could just be.

Nevertheless, she was extensively relieved when the days dwindled and she knew Marco would soon be returning.

---

"Crap," Ellie murmured. 

Marco glanced at her with a raised eyebrow, then returned his attention to the road (and Ellie offered private words of thanks to whatever higher deity might be watching over the highway). "What? Stop worrying about it, El. Just enjoy today. Don't let three words ruin your life."

"No, I forgot my wallet."

"Well it's my treat," Marco said. "Don't worry about it."

"I worry about it. I think it's at home. But I have this kind of missing-wallet insecurity. I like to know where my money is. And my ID. You can hardly take me to a bar without ID, you know."

"We're going to a bar?"

"Well, no," Ellie said. "But you never know. Look, I just want my wallet, okay?" She didn't know why she wanted her wallet, when she was perfectly frank with herself. In fact, she wasn't sure she wanted it at all. She was pretty sure, actually, that the real reason she wanted to go back home was her mother's suspicious behaviour earlier that morning.

Marco sighed. "We've been on the road for half an hour. Do we really have to go back?"

"Yes. Please?" He glanced at her for a moment, ready to protest, but then saw the look in her eyes and gave in.

"Okay, okay. I'll pull off at the next exit and get turned around."

---

Mrs. Nash had asked Ellie about fifty different times just when Marco was supposed to show up. Whenever Ellie asked why she was so curious, her mother brushed it off. "Just planning my day," she would say. Or, "I need to do some cleaning and it's easier to wash the floors when I have the house to myself."

Ellie had dismissed it with a shrug (eventually). She didn't know what her mother was planning, and she was pretty sure she didn't want to know. She hadn't seen that desperation in awhile--the desperation to be alone. In fact, she'd seen it only when she was tiny and Mrs. Nash was desperate to be alone. It was those days that Ellie had gotten shipped off to Elaine's for the weekend. Her mother, of course, thought Ellie was too young to understand. But she'd always understood.

---

"I'll be right out. I just have to grab my wallet."

"Right," Marco said. "Look, Ellie, I really do want to treat you. We can just go to The Dot or whatever if you don't want to get out of the city."

"Marco, we're sitting in my yard. Why wouldn't I go in and get my wallet?"

"Right." He waited until Ellie jumped out and shut the door behind her to add, under his breath, "don't say I didn't try."

---

She'd had nightmares most nights since getting home. It was bizarre, really. Mrs. Nash had done nothing to even suggest she had fallen off the wagon, yet Ellie dreamt of fire and booze, and the sound of vomit echoed in her ears. She'd woken up more than once in a cold sweat, certain she would find her mother in the bathroom, bent over the toilet and green to the gills. But every time she got up and peeked in Mrs. Nash's room, she heard only the even breathing of a peaceful sleep. And so Ellie would go back to bed and repeat the entire process again.

---

She shouldn't have been surprised, Ellie told herself, at what she heard when she walked in the door. It was that tell-tale clinking of glass. Perfectly familiar, perfectly dreadful. She'd thought, deep down, that her own paranoia was just that. She'd hoped it, deeply. And yet, there was that sound.

"Ellie?" Mrs. Nash's voice was shaky, full of nerves and--what was that?--excitement? Of course she was excited, Ellie rationalised. After all, Ellie could still remember the vague excitement that coursed through her own veins every time she picked up a razor blade. Even now, she had a hard time shaving her legs.

"Yeah," Ellie said, her heart sinking in her chest.

"I thought you were out with Marco. What are you doing here?"

"I forgot my wallet." She walked into the kitchen and had to blink back tears when she saw her mother shielding something with her body. "I guess I should have taken up his offer to treat me." Her voice was icy cold now, and she was trying not to portray the crushing disappointment that was quickly weighing down her body.

Mrs. Nash sighed. "No, it's okay. I was just--"

"--Self-medicating?" Ellie snapped. "Relaxing? Falling off the freaking wagon? God, mom. Why?"

"What? No! It's not like that at all!" But Ellie was too upset to notice the odd lucidity to her mother's voice.

"Mom, I love you," Ellie said, her voice cracking. "And it hurts, okay? I thought you were better."

Mrs. Nash sighed and stepped back from the counter. "I was making you dinner," she said softly. "I wasn't drinking, Ellie. I just wanted to surprise you."

Ellie stepped back, stunned. "Tamari," she said slowly. "And olive oil. In glass bottles."

Her mother nodded. "It's your birthday," she said simply. "I wanted you to be happy. But I probably would have burnt it anyway." She offered up a feeble laugh.

Ellie bit her lip. "Mom, I'm sorry," she started.

"No, I'm sorry. I never gave you any reason to trust me. But if you can believe anything I say--I love you too, Ellie. I don't want to hurt you any more." She paused hopefully.

"You're right," Ellie said, and Mrs. Nash's heart dropped. Of course she had been right about hurting her daughter, but she had hoped desperately that she'd made up for it, somehow. "You probably will burn it. But I'd like some anyway, if you're still up for making it." She smiled, and wrapped her mother in a careful hug. It was the first she'd given her in the lifetime she could remember--and it was better than she ever could have imagined.

And her mother hugged her back, and that was everything. Those three words weren't so scary after all, it seemed. 


End file.
